


feeling the future on your skin

by tuesdaysgone



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dune, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:02:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"If the fleet wants to send the dregs of the mission pool to us, well, we do what we have to do."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	feeling the future on your skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carleton97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carleton97/gifts).



> This started, many iterations ago, as a _Dune_ AU, and while I don't feel you have to be familiar with that universe to read it, enough of the background details of this are stolen from the _Dune_ universe to deserve mention. The Dune Wiki was definitely my friend throughout my writing process. Sorry for making you spin in your grave, Frank Herbert! Many thanks to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/seimaisin/profile)[**seimaisin**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/seimaisin/) for the countless emails and endless support and to [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/mahoni/profile)[**mahoni**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/mahoni/) for the stupendous last-minute beta. Title from The Republic Tigers.

"XO to the bridge," Bob Bryar snapped into his comm. Releasing the call button, he started pacing in front of the bank of windows and counting. Barely two minutes flickered by on his chrono before Jepha Howard appeared in the doorway, looking remarkably unrumpled for 0300 hours, most of the splashes of ink decorating his body tucked safely away under the neat black fleet uniform. "You don't ever sleep, do you, Lieutenant?" Bob asked moodily as Jepha crossed the bridge and saluted.

"Do you?" Jepha asked, amused. "You were here first, Captain," he commented with a teasing twist of his lips. "And I'm pretty sure it's Ray's watch." He nodded at Second Mate Toro, who nodded back, his own uniform and overgrown curls drooping after nearly half a standard day on watch but his fingers still cruising tirelessly over his keypads.

"Yeah, well, this just came across the data feed," Bob told him, tossing a datapad his way. "Figured it'd be easier to brief you both at once." And share the misery, he thought bitterly, running a frustrated hand through his own overgrown blond hair. They'd been out on patrol so long they'd nearly forgotten what leave was like.

Jepha caught the pad deftly in one tattooed hand. "Code Orange, huh? This isn't official fleet business. What are we supposed to do?"

"Passenger transpo," Bob said with disgust. "Every new assignment that comes down the pipe is worse than the one before."

"It's not like the good old days, that's for sure," Ray chimed in. "But it could be worse. If the fleet wants to send the dregs of the mission pool to us, well, we do what we have to do."

"I just think we could be doing something more. Something different," Bob grumbled. "Than picking up - " he took the datapad back - "a Science Ministerium detachment from Station 6 in the Latha system and transporting them to...shit."

"Shit?" asked Ray.

"Sector 87." Bob finished.

"Fuck, someone up the chain of command really does hate us," groaned Jepha. "That's outside the green zone."

Ray's fingers were already flying on the navigation keypads. "All right, the travel time from our current grid location to Latha-6 is minimal...probably why they tapped us," he added, ignoring Jepha's mutters about conspiracies. "It's the trip to Sector 87 that's the problem, because of the quarantine...I'm estimating a week. What planet is it, specifically? I'll check the coordinates and the customs rolls."

Bob checked the datapad. "Elkatha-7. I've got the coordinates here."

"That smells," Ray finished. "That was a dangerous sector to be in, even before the quarantine went up four years ago. I wonder if the Ministerium is doing some sort of trade with the border stations?"

"As far as I know, the Ministerium doesn't trade with anyone but their own people. And I'm not taking my people outside the green zone for a civilian transpo without some sort of an explanation," Bob said. The fleet could have done worse to him after his little misadventure last year than taking his destroyer-class certification and leaving him his command crew. Bob owed it to them - and the rest of the cruiser crew on the _Lone Wolf_ \- to watch out for their best interests.

"If you're looking for one from the Ministerium, good luck. Obscurity is their motto." Jepha snorted.

"We'll see," Bob said darkly. Leaning over the comm board, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and authorized a data link, tapping out an acknowledgment of the the orders and, after a quick conference with Ray, an ETA at Latha-6. He felt the rumble of the quantum drive under his feet as Ray programmed the change of course. "I have a bad feeling about this," he mumbled.

*

At Station 6, Bob descended the cruiser's access ramp to personally receive the three passengers waiting in the passenger bay. The first, tall and thin and wearing the typical orange-trimmed gray tunic of the Science Ministerium, was obviously in charge. He practically brimmed with nervous energy, and introduced himself in a hurried manner as "Doctor George. You are Captain Bryar?"

Bob looked down at his uniform and insignia and back up at the other man. "That's what they tell me. Only three passengers?"

"Yes," George answered tersely, but Bob was already looking past him to the other two men. Another tall, slim figure, clad in plain black and gray, had a firm grip on the arm of the third, slightly shorter man. His hands appeared to be manacled behind him, and he stared fixedly at the floor, swaying slightly.

"I wasn't made aware that this was a prisoner transpo," Bob snapped.

"The restraints are for his own protection, Captain, not yours," George said unconcernedly. "Here's the passenger manifest." He handed over a datapad. Bob scanned it briefly. Three passengers, a small amount of cargo. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. As he stepped aside to let the passengers board the _Lone Wolf_ , the third man snapped his head up to stare at Bob through the tangle of his black hair. Silver metal glinted at his temples, but it was his eyes that made Bob freeze in his tracks; they were the eyes of an animal poised for fight or flight, and in those restraints, neither was an option. Maybe he would have to revise his opinion on the ordinariness of his passengers. But no matter what his instincts said, orders were orders; Bob had learned his lesson, even if he didn't like it.

Following the group up the ramp, he said tersely, "This will be a week-long trip. If you follow the porter, quarters have been prepared for all three of you. The mess schedule and other pertinent information is available on the data feed in your quarters. Any special requests can be directed to myself or my command crew."

Back on the bridge, Bob listened with half an ear to Ray's calm recitation of the pre-launch checklist and scanned the passenger manifest. The cargo crates contained scientific instrumentation and medical supplies, and each passenger had a small trunk of personal items. Doctor George's registration forms were attached, as well as those for two men named Way. Brothers, maybe; if Bob tried to picture the two men in his head he could see a possible family resemblance. Both were coded as private citizens; perhaps George was telling the truth after all. Bob was disturbed from his study of the manifest by the repetition of his name from his comm. He was being paged to the passenger quarters.

Passenger quarters were an offshoot of the officers' quarters and shared the same mess room. When Bob turned the corner into the side corridor, he saw one of the Ways - the unrestrained one, naturally - hovering nervously in the passage. "Mr. Way - " Bob started, only to watch as the other man backed into the open doorway behind him and gestured for Bob to follow. Bob raised an eyebrow, but did as he was bid, stepping through the doorway and letting the portal hiss shut behind him. "I assume this is important, Mr. Way, but speed it up. I have a ship to run."

"It's Mikey," the young man said tonelessly. "Mikey Way. Not that it matters, but...I'm Mikey, and my brother's - "

"Gerard," Bob finished. "I read the manifest. What can I do for you, Mikey?"

"I just wanted to...I was hoping to talk to you before Doctor George got to you. About why we're here."

"You read my mind," Bob replied. Mikey flinched visibly. Bob filed the observation away, but continued, "You can explain what's going on with your brother, I hope? I won't lie, Mikey, I don't enjoy doing favors for the Ministerium to begin with, and having a prisoner on board is not making me happy."

"He's not supposed to be," Mikey replied quickly. "A prisoner, that is. He volunteered. But the manacles were Doctor George's idea, and a bad one. He locked Gerard's data feed and reprogrammed the door locks, too. I don't know why he thinks that will help. I don't know why Gerard has to be kept in _line_. Gerard's not going anywhere...we're in space, for gods' sake."

Bob let Mikey talk till he seemed to wind himself down, then asked pointedly, "Volunteered for what?"

Mikey looked back at him, wide-eyed. "I'm really not supposed to talk about it. That's what they told me, when they let me stay with him. But there wasn't anyone to tell...we've been at that station ever since. If Doctor George knew I was talking to you about it, he'd tell _them_." The horror in his voice was audible in that final word.

Bob closed his eyes, rubbed his temples with a calloused hand. This kid was hard to read, but he'd obviously jumped at his first chance to cry out for help - if it was a cry for help - to Bob. Why did this keep happening to him? Bob Bryar, champion of the strays. "I think you should explain," he said calmly.

"We grew up on Ecaz," Mikey replied. "Gerard's always been different, and there, with the artists and the mystics, people didn't notice when he started talking about visions. The sapho juice helped keep it under control, or maybe just made it so he could deal with them."

Ecaz - source of half a dozen powerful organic narcotics, including the mental amplifier sapho. So the older brother was a precog, or something along those lines. The idea made Bob a little nervous, but it also made some kind of sense. "He's not still a sapho addict, is he?" Sapho, Bob knew vaguely from his academy days, resulted in a somewhat manic energy level, and stained the lips dark red after continual use. Not that Bob had been looking at Gerard's lips, precisely, but it would have been hard to miss.

"We were evacuated during the coup last year, pretty much with the clothes on our backs, and his...abilities came to the notice of the ship's medical staff during that first detox. We were supposed to be taken to House Ecaz allies in the Latha system; the Ministerium had a presence there, and said they could help, and he'd have done anything to learn to control his powers. But recently...we've been at the Ministerium's compound on Latha-6 ever since the evacuation, and they've never moved us before. They're planning something, I know. I don't trust them. If Gerard was in his right mind...."

"He's not?" Bob asked. As if he needed to ask; those feral hazel eyes were still branded in his memory.

"They keep testing things. Drug combinations. They wanted melange, probably, but if they can't get it they're determined to duplicate the results another way. They modified those receptors they put on him into neural restrictors, to control both the visions and the symptoms of the detox. He's different when he's wearing them. I guess it's easier." Easier for whom? Bob wondered. Mikey didn't sound convinced either.

"You said he volunteered, Mikey. Why doesn't he just leave?"

"Just because he started as a volunteer doesn't mean that's how he'll end up. I'm...I'm afraid, Captain Bryar."

"Of what? That doctor?"

"Not just him; them." Mikey shuddered. Bob wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he'd heard things about these quasi-religious sects, things that didn't really bear repeating, even in his own head.

Damn it all. He frowned to cover the softening of his expression, and replied gruffly, "Why should I take your word for it?"

"Don't then," Mikey said flatly. He'd composed himself, an irritated flick of his eyebrow masking his earlier disquiet. "I'd tell you to talk to Gerard, but he's sort of locked up right now."

Bob snorted. "This is my ship; do you think I don't have the override code for that door?"

Mikey's shoulders jerked a little. "Well?"

"I'm not promising anything, kid."

Mikey looked back at him coolly. "I'm not asking for anything. Except that you talk to Gerard."

Bob nodded once. "Come with me, then." He pivoted and marched toward the door, resolutely ignoring the clenching feeling in his stomach. Bob usually knew when he was getting in over his head, and this was no different. It didn't mean he would - or could - resist.

The blandly blinking cursor of the keypad by Gerard's door waited patiently for Doctor George's keycode, but Bob ignored it, typing in a sequence of his own and then pressing his thumb directly to the screen. The panel slid silently and obligingly open, and Bob waved Mikey through. Mikey went directly to his brother and the two men embraced; Bob stayed near the door, surveying the cabin with narrowed eyes. It had been stripped of nearly every creature comfort Bob's crew had provided for the weeks-long voyage, and Bob could feel anger bubbling in his chest. He was so focused on that slow burn that he barely heard Gerard speak.

"Bob," Gerard said quietly. Bob snapped suddenly back to awareness.

"How do you know my name?" His tone was accusatory, ungentle, but Gerard didn't waver. He stepped away from his brother but left an arm around his shoulders.

"I know a lot about you, Bob Bryar. I just don't know what you're actually going to tell me until you do."

This was not the wild-eyed prisoner from before. This was someone still, and quiet, and weary. Bob let his eyes skate over the pale skin, sharp chin and cheekbones the brothers shared, the metal gleaming intrusively at Gerard's temples. "I don't understand."

Gerard ruffled a hand through his hair and paced a few steps. "You know how your quantum engines work, I assume, Captain Bryar. You set your course, the computer does the probability calculations for the foldspace travel, and off you go." He gestured expansively at the walls, the floor.

"That's the general idea," Bob said dryly.

"What I can see...the visions. They're like probabilities. But I can't control them well enough to pick the right one. Not without the drugs." His hand went automatically to his head.

"And with the drugs?"

Gerard met his eyes for a moment. He said finally, "You studied primitive weaponry at the academy." Bits of Bob's life story spilling out of a stranger's mouth left him feeling profoundly uneasy, but Bob just nodded. "It's like switching from buckshot to shotgun slugs."

Bob winced. "And these?" He found himself reaching out toward Gerard's temple and quickly pulled his hand back.

"The safety."

Mikey made a small sound, enough to remind Bob of his presence. "Your brother told me you volunteered for this," he told Gerard.

"You'd volunteer too, given the alternative." Gerard cut his eyes toward his brother, who looked back at him, at Bob, and at the door in quick succession. "Where's the doctor right now?" he asked Mikey.

"In his quarters, last I checked," Mikey answered.

"Go keep an eye out?" Mikey nodded and left the room, left Bob standing with Gerard, who for all the slumped lines of his body still had the fixed eye of a bird of prey.

"You send him away for a reason?" Bob asked.

"I really don't think you'd be too keen on Doctor George catching you in here with me. He's not the best guard dog, but the hand holding the leash is nastier than he is."

"Are _they_ the ones responsible for this alternative? Because the last I checked, the Ministerium wasn't the type to go in for conscription."

Gerard nodded. "The Matres have infiltrated the Ministerium now, you know. They've been ruthless, ever since the Arrakis spice trade dried up. No one trusts computer networks in the fringe systems. People like me are their best chance now," he said derisively.

Bob shuddered. The Matres were frightening, even to soldiers like him. The cult's ruthlessness, and their fondness for torture, were fast becoming legend in most of the sectors they controlled. But drug treatments, special technology to control Gerard's powers - it sounded too transparent, too easy. Too much like the Ministerium. The Matres weren't nearly that forthcoming, and Gerard had to know that. Why would he run that risk? "Are there more?" Bob asked.

"People like me? Not at Latha-6. Where we're going...." He trailed off. "I hope not," he whispered. "But I'm pretty sure there will be, if we get there."

Bob didn't understand how Gerard could have such clear knowledge of him and not of his own immediate future. "You don't know if you'll get there?" he asked. He was watching Gerard's expression closely, and Gerard's set jaw said that he did know. Why wouldn't he just ask for help? Why wouldn't either of them ask?

"You'll take us there, Bob Bryar. You'll be too afraid of another court-martial to buck a direct order."

Bob stepped closer; pretty much anyone else on the ship would have been intimidated by his presence, taken a step back. Gerard stayed where he was, meeting Bob's eyes. "Just how much _do_ you know about me?" Bob growled. "And why me?"

Gerard replied with a subdued, "I don't know why you. I don't know how it works, all right? I never have. But pieces of you have been in my head for months. Years, maybe."

Bob just stared. "I hope you don't expect me to know what to say to that," he mumbled.

"I don't," Gerard replied with an unexpected touch of amusement. "Just promise me one thing?" His face was all clean lines: upturned nose, jaw. He looked young and harmless, except for his eyes. Those were unreadable.

"What's that?" Bob answered noncommittally.

"That you'll come back and talk to me when you can."

It was a simple request. Bob studied Gerard's face for a moment, then asked, "That's all you want? Don't you want to be allowed to see your brother? Your data feed unlocked? Your _door_ unlocked?"

"I don't want to alert Dr. George that we've talked. That wouldn't end well. I would - I'd like to see Mikey. But...you don't have to help me, you know."

"I don't have to do anything," Bob replied with a lift of his eyebrow. "But I'm not a jailer. I'll come and open the door for Mikey, at least, whenever he wants."

Gerard looked grateful, but he still pressed, "And you'll come talk to me again?"

"Yes," Bob answered quietly. He wasn't sure why he said it. Jepha had told him a year ago after the Sector 12 debacle, in tones of fond disgust, that he had a savior complex Never mind that there had been an uncharted village in the drop zone of that bombing run. The Baron didn't exactly make a point to staff his fleet with independent thinkers. And here he was in the same kind of situation, where his orders went against his instincts. It didn't take precognitive powers to see that the Way brothers were trouble. Neither of them was easy to read. But talking seemed harmless. And something about them made him want to help them anyway.

Gerard had turned away, shuffling through his personal effects in a clear invitation to leave. It felt like a dismissal; Bob could understand his own irritation, but not the inexplicable sense of loss he felt. He gritted his teeth and left the cabin with a decisive stride. His footsteps faltered near the entry to his own quarters, but he kept walking.

Bob didn't trust harmless. He suddenly didn't trust his own feelings either. But he trusted his crew, and his ship. He headed back to the bridge.

*

Checking his chronometer, he estimated it to be about halfway through Ray's watch. When he got to the bridge, he found his second mate deep in conversation with the master chief. Stump paused his recitation of the specs of some sort of system patch to salute, and Bob waved him off, walking a few steps away to key status inquiries into the main bridge terminal. Stump was another holdover from his destroyer crew. He was on the very short list of men Bob trusted implicitly, but he didn't want to involve him in this clusterfuck. Bob had enough time to study the system logs for the past few hours when he heard the voices behind him cease, Stump murmuring thanks and Ray returning, "I'll check in with you in a few hours, Patrick."

Bob turned around. "Problem?" he inquired mildly, not really expecting an affirmative answer.

Ray wrinkled his nose, ruffled a hand distractedly through the halo of his hair. "Not yet. The chief's worried about a patch the engineers had to code into the computer. We'll have to schedule maintenance soon."

"We'll have to wait till we're out of the fringe systems," Bob murmured, and Ray raised his eyebrows. Bob scratched at his chin and looked away. "I have some intel on the fringe systems," he muttered. "Don't know how trustworthy it is."

"Intel from where?" Ray asked, settling back in his seat and propping his ankle on the opposite knee.

"I talked to our passengers for a while," Bob replied.

"That Ministerium doctor? I thought he was a jerk?"

Bob snorted. "He is. At least, as far as I can tell. No, it wasn't him, it was the other two - the brothers."

"They're brothers? Didn't you say one of them was a prisoner?"

"It's...hard to explain." Bob paused. Ray just waited, fingers idly tapping sequences on the nearest keypad without really looking away from Bob. "Ray, what do you know about precognitives?"

"Why do you ask?" Ray's voice got a little squeaky on the last word. "That not really my area of expertise."

"You're my navigator, Ray," Bob retorted. "All I know about precogs is that a lot of them found their way into the Spacing Guild. I know it's been a long time since flight crews depended on the Guild, but you have to know something."

"Just that much; it's been a long time since crews depended on Guild Navigators. Have you ever seen a precog programming coordinates? I haven't. The fleet's computer systems have been back in service since - hell, basically since Arrakis stopped producing melange. I'm sure it's the same for the other private airfleets." He paused, then repeated, "Why?"

"Our passenger claims that's what he is."

"A precog?" Ray's eyes were wide. "Wow. What's he doing with the Science Ministerium?"

Bob started pacing. "That part's not so clear. But it's more than I would have gotten out of that doctor, that's for sure."

"You don't trust him." It wasn't a question.

"No. Gerard - the older brother - he says the Matres are controlling the Ministerium now. If that's true...." Ray paled noticeably under his olive skin.

"They...but we're supposed to honor the Code Orange requests. The House nobles have always been on good terms with the Ministerium, and the fleet depends on their technology. Gods only know what kind of twisted uses the Matres would have for some of it. If what you're saying is true, and the Matres have taken them over.... The current Baron can't possibly know about that, can he, Bob?"

Bob curled his lip. "If he does, it's classified way above our pay grade, Toro." The Baron they served, like so many of the scions of the Great Houses around the galaxy, was notoriously paranoid. Bob thought it was because they were a dying breed. Trade interests and military might only went so far, when the borders of the known galaxy were ever-expanding. So Bob wasn't about to be the one to bring it to the fleet's attention. He and Ray met each others' eyes for a moment. Ray looked as unsettled as Bob felt, but neither of them knew what to say. They were soldiers. Orders were orders. Except when orders were wrong, Bob thought as he turned away. "I'll be in my quarters," he muttered. Ray turned back to his screens, but the clicking of his keypads didn't start again before Bob was out of earshot.

*

The ship made it through almost two complete chrono cycles before the next summons came, in the form of a soft knock at the doorway of the captain's quarters. Bob had been sleeping fitfully, but after so many years as a soldier his body was trained to wake at the slightest unexpected sound. He struggled upright and frowned at his comm unit for a moment. It was the XO's watch; why hadn't Jepha just paged him? But when he opened the door, it was the slim figure of Mikey Way waiting outside.

"Mikey. Did you want to see your brother?" Bob blinked a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes and braced a hand against the bulkhead, fumbling his leather scuffs onto his feet.

Mikey shook his head. "I saw him earlier. The doctor's been letting me in a couple times a day. Trying to keep him happy, I guess."

"Okay," Bob replied slowly. "What can I do for you?"

"He had another drug treatment today," Mikey told him, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "He's asking for you."

Asking for him. Bob wasn't sure why that made his heart leap into his throat. He covered with a frown. "Is everything all right?"

Mikey just shrugged, expressionless. "As all right as it ever is, I guess. So...you'll go?"

After a moment, Bob nodded tersely. "I will."

When he let himself into Gerard's quarters, he was expecting Mikey to follow, but the younger man merely slipped by and disappeared behind his own door. Gerard sat at the table, his head pillowed on his forearms, hair spilling down to obscure his face. He didn't move when Bob stepped into the room, nor when he coughed gently.

"Gerard?" Bob asked finally, a worried note creeping into his voice. Gerard lifted his head to look at Bob; in two standard days the circles under his eyes had darkened noticeably, and his eyes were over-bright.

"You came," he said quietly. His voice was thready, as if he'd been talking for hours.

"You asked for me. Mikey said - " Bob started gruffly.

"Mikey's always taking care of me," Gerard sighed. Bob didn't have any siblings, but it was a tone he recognized nonetheless. It was Jepha's tone when he had to pull Bob out of equipment bays down in Engineering, Patrick's when he'd hurt himself somehow, and Ray's tone when Bob pulled double watches.

"I'm glad," Bob answered, for lack of a better response. He frowned, scanning Gerard's face. "You look like shit," he added bluntly.

"That's about how I feel," Gerard replied, a smile quirking the very corner of his mouth, like he'd forgotten how to make the expression work.

Bob stared for a moment, until he realized that he was quite obviously staring at Gerard's mouth. Ill-at-ease, he blurted out, "Tell me - " then stopped.

"Tell you what?" Gerard replied.

"Whatever you called me here to tell me."

It was Gerard's turn to stare, then color and avert his eyes. "I just wanted to see you," he mumbled, pushing himself up from his chair and stumbling as he tried to turn away.

Bob moved fast and instinctively, catching him by the shoulders so he wouldn't fall. Gerard made a tiny noise and slumped into the grip; Bob could feel the cold metal of the restrictor on Gerard's temple pressing against his neck when Gerard bowed his head. His mouth went dry and he quickly maneuvered them so they were perched face-to-face on the edge of the bunk, a safe arm's-length apart. Dropping his hands from Gerard's shoulders was unexpectedly hard. The naked want in Gerard's eyes, when he finally lifted his face, was like a punch in the gut.

He could feel his pulse speeding up in response to the heat in Gerard's eyes, but he hardly recognized his own wants, hidden as they were under a fog of not knowing...what, exactly? Why this stranger wanted him? Did it matter? When Bob could breathe again, he ordered, "Tell me why," voice quiet but thankfully steady.

"I told you. It's not that easy," Gerard said, licking his lips. Bob's fingers twitched convulsively, and Gerard dropped his eyes. He realized his hands were on Gerard's knees, and started to blurt out an excuse, which Gerard halted with a raised hand. "I can tell you that you don't punch me when I do this," he added softly, punctuating the sentence by laying his fingertips over Bob's mouth. His callouses pressed against the silky skin of Bob's bottom lip. Unthinking, Bob traced them with the tip of his tongue. Gerard gasped, and they both froze, eyes locked together. Gerard let his fingers drop away.

"You've seen us...together?" Bob said thickly, and Gerard nodded, wide-eyed.

"I wasn't going to tell you," he breathed. "It's like I told you...out of all the possible futures I've seen..."

"You weren't sure?"

Gerard shook his head, cheeks flushing slightly. "I didn't want to risk driving you away."

"That's...an honest answer." Bob said slowly. "I don't ever know what to say to you."

"It's not the easiest thing - making conversation with a precog. Even one like - me." Gerard winced and trailed off on the last word, pressing the heel of one hand hard against his forehead and hissing in a slow breath. Startled, Bob slid a hand around the back of his head till he could tip Gerard's face up. Gerard's fingers slipped down to press against one of the neural restrictors.

"What's wrong?" Bob whispered. Gerard's eyes met his, then slid away, dark and unfocused. Finally, he shuddered and looked back at Bob.

"They're not working as well as they used to," he replied quietly.

"The restrictors? How do you mean?"

"The visions come more often, even with the restrictors. Even without the drugs. When he does give me the drugs, they're just that much clearer. The restrictors never dampen them fully, like they're supposed to."

Bob frowned, studying the silver devices. "Does the doctor know they're malfunctioning?"

Gerard shook his head. "I've been able to hide it so far. I don't know what they'd do, if they found out. They've got a lot riding on this project."

"How do you know that? What have you seen?" Bob asked, and Gerard just smiled a bitter little smile.

"I think the less you know about that the better, Bob. I don't want you to feel bad when you drop me off at Elkatha-7."

"Why do you keep saying that, Gerard? You can't tell me that's what you've actually seen. You're being drugged and experimented on by a group you've told me is controlled by a vicious cult, and you've told me that you - that we - " his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, clenching his fists around the bedding, " - and you won't even acknowledge the fact that I can help you."

Gerard hissed, "Maybe I don't want to drag you into it! It's bad enough I've dragged my brother into it." He moved suddenly, splaying a hand across Bob's chest and pushing him gently but firmly back into the bulkhead, slithering into his lap. "Don't," he said quietly as Bob made to cross his arms. Bob went from shocked to irritated to considering in the blink of an eye. Gerard pressed closer, palm pressing harder against the material of Bob's uniform. "Are you humoring me, Bob?" he asked, intent. Focused.

Bob stayed quiet for a moment, feeling the weight of Gerard's hand against his sternum as he breathed slowly in and out, and answered the question with a question. "Are you serious, Gerard?"

"About what?" Gerard was a warm weight in his lap, their hips cradled together just right. His eyes were dark, a spark of hunger in the depths.

Bob reached up, twisted a hand through Gerard's hair. "Forget the visions and the probabilities, okay? I've wanted you since I laid eyes on you, and that's strange enough to begin with, but I'm not about to deny it. You really want me - no, expect me - to stay out of this?"

"I don't want you to get hurt because of me." He paused. "I've seen that, too. So many times."

Bob used the hand in Gerard's hair to tug him closer. "You don't get to make my decisions for me, Gerard," he whispered, and kissed him before he could reply. Gerard made a surprised noise but quickly opened his mouth for Bob. Bob enjoyed it - the feel of his tongue, the tiny noises he made in his throat - for as long as he could let himself before gently depositing Gerard back onto the mattress. Alone.

Gerard blinked up at him from the mattress, mouth red and slack. "What - "

"I don't know what kind of trouble you think you are, but I'm not the safest person to know, either. Not now, not for a long time. I...I have to figure out what to do about that." He looked at Gerard for a moment longer, then turned and walked out of the room.

*

Bob was surprised to see his second mate conversing with Mikey Way over an assortment of cups and plates in the officer's mess room. Ray was gesturing excitedly, and Bob only understood every third word out of his mouth. "Bob!" he exclaimed when Bob walked up to the table. "Mikey Way, here - you've met him? He's got some fascinating ideas about programming."

Mikey was studying Bob's face. "Captain Bryar," he said, nodding slightly when Bob looked over at him. He wondered how much Mikey knew about Gerard's visions - about him. If Mikey knew the things Gerard wasn't telling. He pushed it aside for the moment, sat down at the table with the other two men and simply listened. After a while, he stirred and shot Ray a look. It was a well-practiced expression. Ray had been part of his command staff for a long time; not quite as long as Patrick or Jepha, but still long enough for every facial tic to be made familiar.

"I've got to prepare for my watch," Ray said, unfolding from the bench and offering a quick salute. "Captain. And Mikey, good to talk with you," he added with a smile.

Mikey lifted a hand and watched Ray disappear down the corridor before his eyes returned to Bob. "He's nice," Mikey mused. "Smart."

"He doesn't hand out compliments to just anyone, either," Bob replied. "So, programming?"

Mikey shrugged. "I was always tinkering with our res-systems when we still lived at home. Most of the time Gee could tell if I was going to burn something down. I got better, and then after...I spent a lot of time in the Ministerium's library."

"You good with mechanics, too?"

The corner of Mikey's mouth quirked. "Tolerably."

"Enough to, say, take those restrictors off your brother?" Bob slouched comfortably against the bulkhead, returning Mikey's stare with an even blue gaze.

"Hypothetically? Or for a particular reason?" Mikey asked.

"Just curious." Nothing more than curiosity, he assured himself. Certainly nothing to do with thoughts of spearing his hands through Gerard's tangled dark hair. Or thoughts of putting the Way brothers on the first transport out of the Elkatha system.

"With an assistant with some medical training, I think so."

Bob nodded. Mikey's expression told him he wasn't at all subtle, but Bob couldn't bring himself to care. There were too many things he didn't know, and Bob was used to having staff, having intel, having fucking sitreps on every little thing. "Does he tell you?" he asked finally, an abrupt shift.

"Tell me what? What he sees?" Bob nodded tersely, and Mikey continued, "Sometimes. Not too much. He likes to talk about self-fulfilling prophecies a lot, but shit, I don't know anything about that. If I might lose an eye because of a project, I may still do it, but I might take a different approach to it. You know? I worry about that part. Because when he was still using sapho, the visions were focused and they didn't seem to hurt him as much, but when they were...."

"It's a lot of responsibility to know, and not just guess," Bob finished.

"Yeah," Mikey replied softly. He paused. "Like a captain, maybe?" he added.

Bob was startled into a bark of laughter. "You'd be surprised." Because the truth was that there were plenty of things Bob didn't know, and plenty more he thought weren't right; but he had to do them anyway. The words 'court-martial' probably blinked red and bold on his military record, and Bob knew he was on thin ice, even as he soldiered through the most inconsequential and frankly insulting assignments the fleet could throw at him. He was lucky they hadn't executed him a year ago, and he knew it.

Mikey was watching him; his face was less transparent than his brother's, but Bob could see the traces of approval there. He wished he'd done something to actually earn it. He changed the subject, starting in on a story about a long-ago prank war between Jepha and himself, ridiculously pleased when he earned a smile and even a rusty-sounding laugh out of Mikey. He saw Dr. George walk down the corridor past the mess room out of the corner of his eye; when the doctor did a double-take and bustled officiously over to the table, they both fell silent.

"Mr. Way," George said airily, "I'm sure the captain has duties other than fraternizing with the passengers." Bob clenched his jaw; the doctor knew Bob was the ultimate authority on this ship. It was about as close as he could get to directly reprimanding Bob, but the implication was still there. That was nearly too much to take. Mikey's eyes flicked to Bob's hand, clenched into a fist under the table and out of George's line of sight, and back up to Bob's face before returning to the doctor's.

"So sorry," he said tonelessly. "Thanks for the company." He rose from the bench in a surprisingly graceful flurry of limbs and walked away without another word. Dr. George took the opportunity to ask several questions about their ETA and flight plan, which Bob was able to deflect, grunting an excuse to escape to the bridge. The man gave him the creeps, and Bob didn't trust him as far as he could throw him - an activity which he was dying to try. So he retreated before he gave in to the temptation.

*

Two more standard days and a double shift on watch ratcheted up his tension considerably, until Bob was growling at unsuspecting crew members who entered his radius. He even growled at Jepha, when he entered the bridge to prep for his watch. Jepha just raised an eyebrow at him and settled into a command chair, keying up the data logs. When Bob didn't respond to any of his questions or asides, Jepha turned around and fixed him with a questioning look. "Bobert," he said.

Bob breathed a couple times - in through the nose, out through the mouth. "Jepharee," he replied.

"I think I caught some of the ensigns hiding in the cargo hold earlier today, Bob. There are not that many crew members on this ship. We need all of the ones we have. Why are you scaring crew members off the bridge?" Jepha cocked his head curiously. His tone was as mild as his expression, but Jepha wasn't the type to shout anyway.

"I just...what are we doing here? This isn't what we signed up for. I don't know if I can do this anymore, Jeph."

"We've been running this cruiser for a year now, Bob." Jepha dropped his voice. "We all hate it, but what's so different this time?"

"They're different. The Ways. Or maybe it's just that I'm different than I thought. And I'm sick of taking orders," he told Jepha.

Jepha leaned closer. "Then you need to decide what you want to do about it. I will back you up, you know that. But you have to have a plan."

A plan was the one thing he didn't have. What he did have were questions. And thoughts that were keeping him awake. "I need a break," Bob muttered. Jepha shook his head, offered a quick salute, and Bob let his feet carry him in the same direction as his thoughts - to Gerard. It was late, what would have been the middle of the night planetside, but Bob let himself into Gerard's quarters unexpected and unannounced.

Gerard wasn't asleep, but he was in his bunk and the lights were turned down low. When Bob walked into the middle of the room, he made a confused noise and struggled to his feet. "Bob?" he asked sleepily. "What are you doing here?"

"Fuck self-fulfilling prophecies," Bob spit out, pacing close enough to curl a hand around Gerard's neck, close enough to force Gerard to look up at him. "I just spent sixteen hours on watch. I should be exhausted, but I can't stop thinking about you." He watched Gerard swallow against his hand, a quick movement of the exposed white throat, his eyes only returning to Gerard's when he felt himself pushed, twisted till his back was against the wall. Gerard was the one to kiss him this time, a nasty clash of teeth and tongues. Bob just closed his eyes, bracing his shoulders against the wall and angling his hips up into the press of Gerard's thigh. He was stronger than he looked, and he kissed dirty. Bob had been to nearly every sector of the galaxy, and had experienced nearly every pleasure bright blue eyes and a captain's uniform could get him. But nothing had ever felt quite like the sting of Gerard's teeth or the press of his fingers, delicately mapping the curves of Bob's skull.

"Bob," he murmured. "It's only fair, that you're thinking about me too."

Bob groaned as Gerard slid the tip of his tongue along Bob's jawline, and reached up to press their foreheads together. "Tell me what you see for us," he growled. He felt Gerard shudder, then freeze.

"The first time you fuck me, it's up against a wall, pressed against a dusty tapestry. You tell me you wish you could take your time. I say, next time, you can have as much as you want." Gerard hissed then, pulling away with a grimace, his hand going automatically to his head. His eyes were wide, pupils hugely dilated. "Usually," he coughed, "the visions don't come when I want."

Bob laid a hand on his cheek. "How do you know?"

"I always know. I told you...knew the restrictors weren't working right," he gasped.

"Then you're gaining control."

"I just know...I see you more than ever."

Bob leaned in, pressed their lips together softly. "Don't know what you did to deserve getting tangled up with me," he chuckled.

Gerard huffed out a laugh against his cheekbone. "I could say the same." He leaned into Bob, their bodies pressing together from shoulder to knee. "I just wish I could actually see something that would help."

"It doesn't matter, Gerard. Visions or not, I'd still want to help you and Mikey. I'll think of something."

The kiss was lazy this time, nearly sweet. "Yeah," Gerard breathed. "I don't know what I did to deserve getting tangled up with you." The words were the same, but it meant something different.

They found their way to Gerard's bunk, curled up together as much as possible in the small space. Nothing on the ship was precisely designed for comfort; Bob found himself hearing Gerard's words - his words, in Gerard's vision. _I wish I could take my time with you._ Space was, in a way, nothing but time. But it wasn't the right time, and certainly not the right place. Bob knew he should leave, go to his own quarters, but the idea held no appeal. "Tell me a story," Bob murmured, eyes drifting shut. And Gerard did. He talked, voice hushed but strong; about himself, his childhood with Mikey, the things they used to do. The things they'd wanted to do, before their settlement was evacuated. He didn't mention the future at all, but his hand in Bob's hair said more than enough, at least for now.

*

Bob, Ray, and Jepha were all on the bridge when they approached the quarantine station. It had the particular cobbled-together look of most stations built during the years after the Scattering; Bob knew it was jointly maintained by the planetary interests of Sector 87, including the twelve planets of the Elkatha system. He and Ray had both searched the data feed for more information on their current quarantine procedures, without any luck. The mapped sectors outside the Old Imperium were notoriously untrusting, and Bob couldn't hold it against them. He was beholden to the Ministerium here, because didn't know what kind of a relationship the Baron had with the Houses in this sector; just because they had flight clearance didn't mean the Houses in the Elkatha system would make things easy for them. Bob watched the navigation feeds as Ray communicated with the station's port controllers. Jepha paced near the bank of windows. Bob's head snapped up when Jepha froze and muttered a heartfelt curse.

"What is it?" he asked, walking across the bridge to where his XO stood.

Jepha gestured to starboard, to the line of waiting ships. "That ship, there. If it's the one I think it is, I know her captain. Had no idea he was in this sector, that's all."

"Old friend?" Bob asked mildly.

Jepha's eyes were uncharacteristically dark. "Guess you could say that."

"Is it going to be a problem?"

"No, nothing like that." Jepha laughed at Bob's expression. "Not all of us are so good at finding problems." Bob grimaced a little. It was true.

He tried again. "Are you going to need some liberty time?" This time, because he was watching, he saw the expression that flickered across Jepha's face. Oh. So it was that kind of old friend.

"I don't think so," Jepha answered, subdued. "We've got an assignment to finish."

"Captain," Ray called from the board. Bob turned away, watched the fast-approaching docking bay as Ray brought the _Lone Wolf_ in for a landing. "Customs officers will be waiting to do the prelim, but they warned me they're shorthanded. I don't know what that means, time-wise."

"I guess we'll find out," Bob answered.

He went to admit the customs officers himself. This wasn't the first time they'd been out of the green zone in the past year, but he didn't like giving strangers access to his ship. The Baron had greased enough palms to make travel through the Old Imperium painless. Out here, it was a different story. Just as he'd expected, within a half hour the officers were asking the kinds of questions that meant they were in for a serious dick-measuring contest. The cruiser was essentially a patrol-class craft; they carried light cargo, mostly their own supplies, with some luxury items intended for the Baron's personal collection mixed in. They were more heavily armed than a typical passenger craft, though, and that and the unorthodox computer systems were apparently the sticking points. Bob refrained from rolling his eyes and handed over the manifests and schematics the officers wanted. Then he went to find Doctor George and give him the bad news.

*

"They're holding the ship for 72 hours?" Doctor George scowled.

"I did warn you," Bob replied, trying for an illusion of politeness, "that the ETA was flexible. Quarantine stations are unpredictable. We'll get you to Elkatha-7 as soon as we can."

The doctor sniffed. "I'll have to report this...circumstance to my order. If you'll excuse me?" And he whirled on his heel, shutting the door to his quarters in Bob's face.

Bob stood still in the corridor for a moment, considering Gerard's door just visible down the hall. Bob was no stranger to attraction, but he'd always been able to satisfy his occasional needs and then move on; the next port, the next mission. The sheer craving he had for Gerard's company after a mere handful of days still took him by surprise. And it was ridiculous. If anyone needed to move on, it was Gerard and his brother. And it was Bob who'd be responsible for making that possible. If. If they ever got cleared from this station, if they got to the Elkatha system, if he could think of a way.

If they ever got cleared from this station. The fact was, Bob didn't need to get cleared through to the Elkatha system to get the Ways off this station. He flashed back to Jepha on the bridge. The ship belonging to Jepha's mysterious friend - who was he, where was he bound? And could he be trusted?

Bob was moving before he'd even completed the thought. "Clear the bridge," he spit out as he walked through the door, and a couple crew members scuttled away. "Lieutenant, Second Mate, stay." Ray and Jepha had both snapped to attention at his tone. "The ship's on a 72-hour quarantine. You're both officially off-watch." He watched their faces, saw the moment that they relaxed from subordinates to friends.

"And unofficially?" Ray asked.

"Unofficially, I'm asking for your help. And you can say no."

"When have we ever?" Jepha replied.

"Well, you might want to, this time. I'm going to help our passengers escape." He didn't bother to add the obvious, that if he got caught it would be a career-ender, one way or another, for him. He also felt no need to volunteer his foolish - and utterly useless - justification; that he'd let Gerard's vision convince him that the plan would work. Neither Jepha nor Ray argued with him. He didn't know if he'd been expecting it, or if he'd been hoping for it, but both of them merely nodded tightly and waited for him to continue. Bob laughed recklessly. "All right. Here's what I need. Jepha, how good of a friend is the captain of that ship you saw?"

Jepha quirked an eyebrow. "Good enough, once upon a time."

"If we can find him, can he be convinced, or bribed, to carry two passengers out of system?"

"We can go find out." Jepha's eyes glowed devilishly. Bob hadn't seen that light in a while.

He looked at Ray. "Can you nose around the port controllers and find out who's cleared for immediate takeoff? See where Jepha's friend's ship, the - " he glanced over at Jepha.

" _Dumb Luck_ ," Jepha filled in.

"Where the _Dumb Luck_ is in the queue, while you're at it," Bob finished.

Ray nodded. "Prying, bribes, or hacking?" he asked.

"Whatever it takes, Ray. Try to stay clean if you can."

"And if I can't?"

Bob grunted. "I trust your judgment, Toro."

"At least one of us does," Ray muttered, but he was smiling. Both of them were.

Bob looked from one to the other, and the corner of his own mouth twitched. "You're crazy fuckers," he commented. "Let's go do something stupid."

*

Jepha and Bob had changed into off-duty clothing before disembarking, but Bob still felt conspicuous as they wound through the blind passages of the station towards the entertainment sector. He'd asked if they should hail the _Dumb Luck_ first, but Jepha had just laughed. "He'll be at a bar, somewhere," he'd said. "Just follow me. I know what he likes."

Apparently, what the mysterious captain liked was 'grimy hellholes'. Not that this particular station offered much of a selection. Bob had hesitated over bringing his sidearm, eventually leaving it in his quarters. He was still armed; he hadn't carried a knife in his boot since he'd been a brawling teenager, but the metal pressing against his ankle was soothing in a way he hadn't expected. He watched Jepha, walking beside and slightly ahead of him, eyes ranging back and forth as they trekked down the corridors. Jepha looked more relaxed than he had in months, posture loose but contained. Bob, after considering it for a moment, realized that he felt the same way, and probably looked much the same. It made sense now, the curious look Patrick had given them when he'd summoned the Master Chief to the bridge and put him on watch. He trusted Patrick implicitly, but had resisted the temptation to explain the circumstances. He didn't want to drag any more of his command staff - his friends, his brain supplied unhelpfully - into this.

Jepha stopped in front of the entrance to a saloon, eyes skimming the patrons as they stepped through the doors. Most of the patrons were oblivious, attention fixed on their drinks, the gaming screens spaced along the stained bartop, the dancers writhing gamely on their platforms. Some eyed the newcomers. Bob eyed them back. They were a motley assortment: haggard long-haul spacers, well-groomed smuggling bosses, wet-behind-the-ears deck jockeys, hard-faced men who were clearly members of some other nobleman's private military. The latter group eyed Bob and Jepha a little bit closer than the rest; like recognized like, with or without the uniform. Beside Bob, Jepha made a satisfied noise and headed towards a booth in the back that held a single man.

Despite sitting alone, the man had accumulated a staggering amount of empties on the scarred tabletop. He was swathed in a hooded tunic, the hood pulled up to shield his face, leaving little more than a gingery-red beard visible. He sat up when Jepha stopped in front of his table, pushing the hood back and staring out of wide-set dark eyes. "Jepha-ree, a sight for sore eyes," he half-sang, voice flat but cheerful.

"Dan," Jepha replied quietly. Dan stood up, surprisingly quickly for a man his size, and Jepha flinched. Bob stepped in to back him up without a thought; the look that Dan bent on him, half curious and half intimidating, gave him pause. Yeah, definitely _that_ kind of old friend. But Dan merely waved them into the booth, one hand in the air to signal the server for more drinks. He waited till the bottles had arrived, eyes flicking over them both. Jepha took a sip of his drink and said, "Dan Whitesides, Bob Bryar. My commanding officer."

"Is that so, Jepha?" Dan said lightly. Bob watched a flush creep up Jepha's neck, and wondered. Everything this guy said was entirely good-natured, but that wasn't how Jepha was reacting.

"Jeph," he reminded gently, and Jepha seemed to shake himself.

"Not just a catch-up visit?" Dan asked, still watching the two of them with bright-eyed interest.

"Sorry, Dan. Seeing the _Dumb Luck_ here was...well, just dumb luck. We need to know if you'd be able to take on passengers."

Dan looked gleeful at Jepha's confidential tone. "Unofficially and unobtrusively?" he asked, rolling the words over his tongue.

"That's the general idea," Bob answered. "Just two passengers - civilians. You wouldn't have to take them farther than your next port of call."

Dan hummed. "Sounds easy enough. Why're you wearing your serious face, Jepharee?"

"Let's just say there are people who won't be happy about this." Jepha looked over at Bob.

"People you really don't want to piss off," Bob added.

"I guess I'll have to make sure they don't catch me," Dan answered easily.

"So you'll do it?" Jepha asked.

"I will," said Dan, tipping a mostly-empty bottle in their direction before slugging back the rest of the contents.

"No arguments, questions, demands?" Bob couldn't help asking.

Dan chuckled. "Maybe I owe Jepha one. Maybe I want him to owe me one. But never fear, Captain Bryar, I'm your guy."

Jepha was idly tapping at a bottle with his fingernail. "How are they?" he asked Dan.

"I was wondering when you'd ask, Jepharee. Just fine. We've got two ships now. The _Love and Death_ is in for repairs, though, so they're stuck in the Borovin system for a few weeks."

"And you're flying by yourself?"

"I usually do these days." Bob didn't think he was imagining the meaningful tone in Dan's voice, and he definitely didn't imagine the furtive looks the two of them were shooting back and forth. Bob just watched and listened, nursing his drink. Jepha didn't ever talk much about his life before the fleet. Bob was starting to figure it out, though.

Eventually, Dan closed his tab, and assured them he'd have his ship prepared for passengers within a standard day. As Jepha and Bob wove back through the corridors to the cruiser, Bob asked, "Would that have gone much differently if I hadn't been along?"

Jepha sighed. "Probably. He still would have said yes, though. Dan's a good guy."

"Does he really owe you a favor?"

"I stopped keeping track a long time ago. It's not...that's not the way we were, back then."

"He's a smuggler." Bob kept his voice neutral.

"They all are. Dan, Quinn, Bert. Crazy motherfuckers. I was too. But we ran too close to the edge one too many times...I don't know...I had to get out. Lost my nerve."

"Bullshit." Bob snorted. "You've got enough nerve for two pilots."

"Maybe now. One good thing the fleet training did, I guess." Jepha smiled, just a brief lift of the corners of his mouth. "Not that they'd have been too keen to know they were rehabilitating a former smuggler."

"Am I messing things up for you now?"

"Nah. Running the destroyer was one thing, when I still believed in it. Running the cruiser is another thing. Dan and the guys...they'd have me back if I asked. They'd have you and Ray, too. It's not a bad living. Some of the cargo they run is even legit." Jepha chuckled a little.

"Dan would have you back," Bob said casually.

"Fuck you," Jepha replied, but weakly.

"What, you think I'm blind?" Bob didn't know why he was pushing, but he couldn't help it.

"Just leave it alone, Bob. It's more complicated than that."

"If you say so." Bob let the conversation die then. They were almost back at the _Lone Wolf_. The first thing he saw upon re-boarding the ship was Patrick, hovering nervously. The second thing was Ray, who appeared to be forcibly restraining Mikey Way. "What the fuck?" Bob snapped. His stomach felt like lead.

Several people started talking at once, and he could barely pick out individual voices, until he heard Mikey say, "Gone!"

"Who's gone?" Bob snapped. He didn't really need to ask; Mikey's white face said it all.

"Gerard. Doctor George. They left!"

Fuck. "Everybody to the bridge, now," he ordered.

"Can I let go of you now?" Ray asked Mikey. He nodded tightly, and Ray released his arms. "I told you we didn't have anything to do with this," Ray muttered, looking hurt.

Mikey looked away, eyes skittering past Bob, who merely repeated, "March!" in a low growl. He herded them onto the bridge - Mikey, Ray, Jepha, and Patrick - and fixed them all, minus Jepha, with a glare. "Master Chief," he said. "You first. Report."

"The Ministerium doctor called the bridge about an hour ago and said he'd be disembarking here, change of plans, and would I please retrieve his luggage and Gerard Way's. I asked about the other passenger, and he said alternate travel arrangements were being made. And...the Code Oranges, they're priority orders, I never thought...." He trailed off, red-faced.

"Patrick," Bob said, and Patrick looked up. "You followed orders. It's my fault for not letting you know before I went off-watch, but I never thought...." Bob looked over at Mikey. "We were off-ship, trying to find berths for you and your brother on a departing flight."

"Really?" Mikey looked slightly less betrayed, now, but still tight-lipped. "But it doesn't matter now," he added bitterly. "Gerard's gone. I can't believe...why would he leave me?"

Bob knew exactly why. _Maybe I don't want to drag you into it! It's bad enough I've dragged my brother into it._ "He was trying to protect you," he muttered. "Dammit."

"I don't need protected! What I need to know is that my brother's safe." Mikey took a few deep breaths, then fixed Bob with a level stare. He'd never looked so much like his brother. "You said you found us transport. Send me after him, please."

"You'll never make it on your own," Ray interjected.

Mikey whirled on him, but Bob spoke before he could. "Don't bother arguing. You're not going on your own, though. I'm going with you." That stopped Mikey in his tracks.

"I think you mean 'we'," Jepha chimed in, sounding amused.

"I don't like to assume," Bob said gruffly.

"You can," Ray answered. "In this case."

Bob looked at Patrick. "Master Chief - I'd like it if you'd keep this under wraps. I'm sure you'll be able to get the ship back to base without us."

"Someone can get the ship back to base," Patrick said slowly, "but it won't be me."

"What do you mean?" Bob asked.

"I'd rather desert with the men I trust than run this ship with what's left," Patrick said simply.

Bob turned away, tugging the ends of his hair. "Ray," he said eventually. "What's the word from the port controllers on the _Dumb Luck_?"

"Cleared for takeoff within 30 hours," Ray answered promptly.

"Jepha - you think Dan will take five passengers to Elkatha-7? Is there room?"

Jepha nodded. "Won't be luxury accommodations, but the _Dumb Luck_ used to carry four or more on a regular basis. I'll go now, make sure he's got the clearances."

"The rest of you - we need to amend the flight plan, get this ship set up to return to base. Pack light," Bob eyed them one at a time - Ray, who was already ticking through their next five steps in his head. Patrick, looking confused but trusting. Jepha, calm and steady as ever. Mikey, still white-faced but standing straighter than Bob had seen before. This was the most reckless thing Bob had done in - well, a year or so. It felt good, until he started thinking about Gerard, going off with the doctor to meet whatever fate flickered behind his eyes.

*

The others left the ship in two-man shifts, carrying what they needed. Bob personally placed one of the most trustworthy enlisted officers on watch, admonishing him sternly that the command staff was not to be disturbed for the rest of their 72-hour quarantine. Ray had filed an amended flight plan with the controllers that would return the cruiser to home base, coding the computer to unlock the bridge controls at that point and not before. Bob was the last to leave, and alone. Leaving the _Lone Wolf_ behind was harder than he expected. His crew wasn't a bad crew - just young and inexperienced. They'd be assimilated onto other crafts in the Baron's fleet. He wasn't worried, he was just...out of sorts.

It wasn't any better when he was finally onboard the _Dumb Luck_. Dan ran the control board deftly. Ray and Patrick had grabbed the opportunity to catch catnaps in two of the bunks. Bob hovered - he couldn't help it - until Dan swatted at him lazily with one giant hand. "Too many captains," he said. "Take a break. I promise I'll get you all to Elkatha-7 in one piece."

Too keyed up to sleep, Bob eventually wandered back to the galley in time to watch Mikey make faces at his first taste of one of Jepha's hot beverage concoctions. Bob just shook his head when Jepha held out the carafe. "I'm pretty sure that stuff is a controlled substance on whatever planet you buy it from," he said.

"Now you tell me," Mikey grumbled. Jepha called them heathens and kept sipping his own drink. Bob scrounged the ingredients for a quick hash and plunked bowls in front of Mikey and Jepha. There was conversation, the desultory kind that meant they were all avoiding difficult topics. Eventually, Jepha excused himself and headed for the cockpit, a bowl of food in hand for Dan. Mikey looked over at Bob, who was idly spinning his spoon between his fingers, and asked him, "Do you actually have a plan?"

"Hell, no." When Mikey just raised an eyebrow at him, Bob continued, "Look, we have the perfect cover here. We've got Dan's ship, full of cargo. We've got a fringe system settlement we need to reconnoiter. So, we're traders. We hang around, ask some nosy questions about potential buyers, figure the best way into wherever the Ministerium is keeping Gerard, and then we make our move. And I get why you're impatient, Mikey, but that's the best way."

"You forgot 'set up a command center planetside and hack into the communications systems'," a voice half-yawned. It was Patrick, tugging a cap down over bed-rumpled hair and reaching for the half-empty carafe. "Fuck, what is this stuff?" he said grumpily. "Who let Jepha near the galley?"

"Mikey did," Bob replied promptly, taking a swig of his own energy drink. "Anyway, what's this about communications systems?"

"Dan's got some sweet components stored down in the cargo hold. You command types get so excited about tactical maneuvers you forget what the engineers can do for you."

"Which is? Don't forget, they're weird about computer systems out here."

"All the more reason we should be able to sneak into whatever networks they have," Mikey chimed in. Bob looked at him consideringly.

"I forgot you were a programmer. Consider yourself a part of Patrick and Ray's team, Way. They're the best I know." Mikey nodded and turned immediately to Patrick. Bob left them to it and went to explore the cargo hold. It was that or the cockpit, and Dan was right. Two pilots in such a small space was one too many. He was lucky Dan seemed to have thrown his lot in with them for the duration, and he didn't want to piss him off.

*

What they found on Elkatha-7 was a desert planet with one large reclaimed area, crammed with every imaginable form of activity. Like the quarantine station, Elkatha's main city had that cobbled-together look, but in the case of Caravan City, the scars of bombed-out buildings were clearly visible beneath the patching. Dan sauntered away to hit the spaceport bars, Jepha at his side, and apparently sauntered out again with half a dozen merchant contacts and several leads on temporary planetside squats, according to Jepha's comm transmission. Bob had stayed behind to help sift through the cargo for supplies. He turned around several times to find Mikey in his way. The third time, he set down the box he was carrying, wiped his forehead, and deliberately backed Mikey into a deserted area of the hold.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm helping," Mikey answered.

"No, that's not what you're doing. You're following me around. What is it, Mikey?"

"I just...I want to know why you're doing this. Because this is a lot." Mikey waved a hand at Patrick and Ray, the hold of the _Dumb Luck_ , everything.

"I'm doing this for Gerard," Bob told him.

Mikey looked at him for a long moment. "You barely even know Gerard," he pointed out.

"Gerard says that I will," Bob said quietly.

Inexplicably, Mikey laughed, a short sharp bark. "He'd be the first to tell you not to trust his visions. Even he doesn't."

 _He's starting to. At least, I thought he was._ "Maybe it's what I want," was what Bob said out loud, realizing as he did that it was true.

"That's different, then," Mikey said slowly.

He didn't have time to say more - wasn't sure what more he could say at this point - before his attention was diverted back to the hold door. Dan and Jepha were boarding. "Did you find all the toys you need?" Dan asked cheerfully. At Ray's nod, he continued, "Good, because we've got some space down a side street near the residential center."

"How'd you swing that?" asked Patrick.

"Everything's for sale on a planet like this," Jepha told him.

"Including information?" Bob asked.

"Oh, especially that," answered Dan. "Your Ministerium's got a complex on the other side of the city, and I have the names of about half the service firms they contract with."

"Better than nothing. Let's get the computer geniuses on it," Bob said, laying a hand on Mikey's shoulder as he passed by.

They were set up in the squat - a half-condemned building that looked to have been a Bene Gesserit temple/dormitory at one point - by the end of the week, with Ray already clicking through info feeds while Patrick and Mikey ran additional programs. Dan took pity on Bob after a few hours and pulled him out of the building to do some neighborhood recon on foot. "It's hard to be the muscle sometimes, isn't it?" he said as they padded down the dirty street, Bob's eyes raking alleys and street corners, memorizing the layout. Dan moved easily, but Bob could see him doing the same.

"You're a pilot, Dan. I'd hardly call you muscle."

"I could say the same, but.... We're planetside now, Bob. Nothing to fly. The guys in there tapping on keypads, they're doing their jobs. And they need us to do what they can't."

"My soldiers are all combat-trained," Bob grumbled.

"Not saying different. But they're not you. And you're used to being in charge, aren't you? It's a lot of weight to carry, and you've been doing it for a long time."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Dan chuckled. "All I'm saying is, you're out of the fleet now. What did you do before the Academy, anyway?"

Bob snorted. "I was a juvenile delinquent."

"Ah," Dan grinned. "Now that I can understand. You're in good company, my friend." He halted suddenly, grabbing Bob's arm to pull him to a stop. "There," he said quietly. "That's the building your Ministerium is using."

Bob followed his pointing finger. The long, low structure was tucked in the midst of the business sector. It didn't look forbidding, or well-guarded, or like anything special at all. "More than meets the eye, do you think?" He tried to control the twitching of his muscles, telling him that Gerard was inside, a few dozen meters away.

"Bound to be. Then again, maybe not. This is a backwater; the Ministerium barely has a presence here. Maybe that's why they came. No prying eyes." Dan widened his eyes, made a face.

"Except ours," Bob pointed out, and Dan nodded.

"True. C'mon, Bryar. Time to go see what your boys have dug up."

*

Getting into the Ministerium building was easier than Bob could have thought possible. They were still renovating large sections of it, and had workers and building materials going in and out all day long. A couple well-placed bribes had earned Bob a spot on the crew roster. The chief had taken one look at his muscled shoulders and handed over a uniform coverall without comment. He probably thought Bob was a felon or someone otherwise unhireable, and Bob didn't do anything to dispel that impression.

It took three days of inside recon before Bob was comfortable enough to attempt the rescue. Gerard had been gone for nearly two weeks at that point, and it had been hard to balance Mikey's - and his own - anxiety with the need to be thorough, to be professional. In those three days, he'd seen Gerard only once, from a distance. Enough to verify the information he'd bribed out of another worker about the new arrival was correct, but not enough to see how he was doing, or answer any of Mikey's questions. He'd seen Dr. George several times, though, and ducked into doorways to avoid him, even though he was fairly sure the haircut and scruffy coverall were a more effective disguise. Men like George never looked twice at day laborers.

Looking back and forth down the hallway, Bob decided the coast was as clear as it was getting. He was across the hall and in front of Gerard's door in a blink of an eye, studying the locking mechanism. "Patrick, Ray," he murmured into the comm pinned under his collar, "we've got a keypad lock here."

"Yeah, we see the system," Patrick answered. "We're gonna have to knock out the primary and backup power grids to take care of that for you. I can give you five-second bursts at a thirty second interval without tripping any of the security. Ready for a little blackout?"

"On your count," Bob answered.

"Go," came the voice from his comm, and the lights flicked out. Bob opened the door. Gerard was awkwardly sprawled on the bed, limbs hanging at uncomfortable looking angles, his back to the door. Bob was at his side in seconds, shaking his shoulder gently. The power snapped back on. Bob started counting down from thirty in his head.

"Gerard." No response. "Come on, I'm here to get you out of here." Fuck. He was sleeping, and from the sickly tint of his skin, probably drugged. Bob did the next best thing and scooped him up, tossing him over his shoulder and leaping for the door. Snap. The power went back out and Bob was back out the door, whipping across the hall and into a service corridor. Snap. The lights went back on. "Patrick," Bob panted. "That's enough. Dan, is the transport ready?"

"Ready and waiting," came the response. Bob kept carrying Gerard until he felt him start to stir.

They were nearly at the door, so Bob set him on his feet, grasping him firmly under the armpits. "Gerard, let's go. Can you walk?"

Gerard muttered something, still nearly insensible. He kept repeating it though, and the words finally formed coherent sentences: snarled exhortations to "Take me back, dammit."

"I'm getting you out of here, jackass," Bob growled tensely. "Either walk or hold still and let me carry you."

"No, you don't understand, "Gerard mumbled, trailing off.

"Like fuck I don't." Bob just clenched his jaw, wrapped his arm more firmly around Gerard and hauled him along half-stumbling. They had to keep moving. When they hit the street, the transport was idling close to the building as promised, and Bob passed Gerard over to Jepha through the back doors of the transport, jumping in the front with Dan. Mikey had insisted on waiting in the transport with Jepha; Bob waited for the sight of his brother to snap Gerard out of it, but he just screamed and clutched his forehead, eyes screwed shut, face bathed in sweat. Mikey went bone-white and a grim-faced Jepha reached for pressure points at Gerard's neck, pressing hard enough to stun him. When Gerard passed out, Mikey snapped out of his trance to administer a syringe full of sedative.

Dan swung the transport around the winding streets of the residential center, eyes peeled for pursuit. Gerard's absence might have been discovered within five minutes, but it could take five hours. Bob clutched his sidearm, ready to fire if Dan gave him the high sign, but it seemed they had escaped clean. Bob was out of the transport and around to the loading doors before Dan even brought it to a complete stop; he scooped up Gerard's unconscious form and carried him inside himself, to the old conference room where they'd set up a makeshift operating theater. This wasn't how they'd anticipating performing the neural restrictor removal, but it would have to do.

*

Bob sat on a chair next to Gerard's bed, staring at the pale, still form. He was alone, for now. Mikey had stumbled off a while earlier in search of a free bed, still exhausted from the impromptu surgery he and Patrick had performed. Bob focused on the broken veins and slightly reddened patches where Gerard's restrictors had been. The actual procedure had been quick. Patrick and Mikey worked surprisingly well as a team, especially one with no practical experience. Patrick had been the acting medic on Bob's crew for years, but the fleet had always been quick to send a medical transport for anything serious. One perk of money, Bob supposed. But Gerard's restrictors weren't exactly common technology. Mikey had been impressive under pressure, gawky form gone still, fingers delicate and graceful with the instruments. The sedative had worn off a long time ago; Gerard was just sleeping, had been sleeping for hours now. Bob could admit to himself what he wouldn't to anyone else - he was sick with fear. Fear that something had gone wrong, that Gerard was hurt in some way that their basic medical scans couldn't sense.

When Gerard started to stir, Bob sat very still, but the bleary hazel eyes blinked once or twice and zeroed in on Bob unerringly. Gerard coughed a few times, pressing his face into the rough pillowcase, and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"How do you feel?" Bob asked roughly.

"Different," Gerard replied slowly. "Why do I...." He trailed off, brow wrinkling, and lifted his hands slowly to his head, tracing his fingertips over the reddened skin. "They're gone. How?"

"Mikey. And one of my officers. We had to knock you out, Gerard, I'm sorry, but you were delirious. Asking us to take you back."

Gerard stilled, eyes narrowing and staring into Bob's. "I wasn't delirious. Fuck. Where's my brother?" He jumped to his feet, heading somewhat unsteadily for the door. Bob followed, a second too late to grab him.

"Sleeping! What the hell is wrong with you?" But Gerard was already halfway down the hall, hollering Mikey's name. Bob chased after him, grabbing his arm and yanking him into the closest doorway. He allowed the motion to carry them both into the wall by the door, pushing Gerard against the surface with a heavy forearm. "Everyone is sleeping, Gerard, so stop fucking yelling." The sensor lights in the room flickered uncertainly into service. Bob hadn't been in this particular room before, and he felt his breath catch as the weak illumination caught the surfaces of half a dozen tapestries blanketing the walls. Bob stared at them dumbly. They were Bene Gesserit images, depicting Emperor Leto's Golden Path, vaguely familiar from childhood religious instruction that never really took. But that wasn't the foremost thought in Bob's mind. _The first time you fuck me...pressed against a dusty tapestry...._ "Gerard," he choked out.

Gerard looked back, eyes round and startled. Whatever demon had been riding him a few minutes ago had fled. "Shit. Bob." He was taking in their surroundings, too. His voice was half-wrecked already, but it only whipped Bob's own temper back into life.

He leaned in. "You left us without a word," he whispered into the hollow under Gerard's ear. "Your brother was frantic. I knew why you did it, though. Is that why you want to go back, Gerard? Is it a waste of your noble sacrifice if you stay here?" He rode out Gerard's shudder with a heavier press of his body against Gerard's.

" _My_ noble sacrifice?" Gerard laughed weakly. "You apparently went AWOL with my brother and your entire command crew. For what? For me?"

Bob ignored him. "You told me I'd follow orders and bring you here. I know you saw differently. Don't try to tell me you didn't. And then I told you I wanted to help you, and you still went off with George. Why would you do that?"

"I didn't want to rely on you," Gerard gasped, palms thudding against the fabric-covered wall on either side of his braced thighs, arching helplessly into the weight of Bob's body even as he turned his face away.

"On me, or on your visions?" Bob murmured. "Even if you didn't trust them, why wouldn't you trust me?"

"I did - I _do_."

"Then trust me that I'm doing what I think is right...and that I'm doing what I want to do. And I'll return the favor."

Gerard turned his head finally, looked Bob in the eyes. "You don't know what I see."

"I don't need to. Look - I'm giving you permission to tug me out of the way of gunfire anytime, okay? But I'm not asking anymore. Not about us." Unexpectedly, Gerard smiled. It was a little wicked at the corners, but it didn't last long.

"You trust me," he repeated solemnly, and Bob nodded. "Then do what you're thinking of, before I make you wake everyone up and tell you why we need to go back."

"What am I thinking of, Gerard?" Bob asked.

"We both know what," he breathed. "You've been shoving it out of your mind since you walked into this room."

Oh. "And you?"

"I want you to stop holding back now."

Bob let out a breath, pressing his lips to the corner of Gerard's jaw. "I can...yeah. Yeah?" Gerard raked his fingers through Bob's hair, pulling him closer.

"I can't tell you how many times I thought about this," he whispered against Bob's mouth, hissing when Bob pushed his hands up under his shirt.

"Tell me what you want," Bob murmured back as he pulled the shirt over Gerard's head, exposing pale, smooth skin.

"Anything. Everything. Please." Gerard groaned as Bob licked into his mouth, hands linking around the back of Bob's neck. When he pulled back, dropped to his knees, a shudder ran through Gerard's body and Bob wrapped a hand around his hip to hold him still, worked the fastenings of Gerard's pants with the other. He was hard already; he let out a ragged noise when Bob pressed his tongue against the head of Gerard's cock, one hand cupping the back of Bob's skull ever so gently and the other clutching the neck of Bob's shirt.

"It's okay," Bob said gruffly before taking Gerard's cock into his mouth. As he started a gentle suction, he felt Gerard tighten his fingers in his hair, speeding up in response to the near-painful tugs, the broken noises Gerard let slip. Bob closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of Gerard's body, let his mouth slide against the spit-slick skin, then pulled off, pressing parted lips against the soft skin of Gerard's thigh. His focus had narrowed to the few points of contact between them; he spit in his hand and reached around to test Gerard's entrance with a fingertip.

Gerard swore, hips jerking, but the sound and the movement cut off as Bob wrapped his lips back around Gerard's cock. "Fuck, Bob. Bob," he panted, thighs quivering like he didn't know which way to move. Bob just pressed a reassuring hand against his stomach and kept going, tongue swirling as he added a second finger. "Please," Gerard said again. "Inside me, I want - " His hands reached for Bob's shoulders, tugging until Bob pulled off and stood. Their eyes met. Gerard's face was as flushed as Bob imagined his own was; his eyes glittered as he slid his hands over Bob's chest and down, fumbling at his waistband until his cock sprang free. He was so hard - had been since the moment he'd pushed Gerard against the tapestry. Bob bit back a curse as Gerard turned, his hip brushing against the over-sensitive skin. Gerard settled his palms against the wall and looked back over his shoulder. "Just like I saw," he said softly.

Bob smoothed a palm down Gerard's back, nudging his feet farther apart. "I do wish," he gritted out as he took himself in hand, smoothing precome over the head of his cock, "that I could take my time with you." He lined up and pressed in slowly, his own groaned breath echoed a second later in Gerard's voice.

"Next time," Gerard choked out. Bob pushed in slowly, firmly, until he was fully settled, leaning in to mouth along the curve of Gerard's shoulder. He waited until he felt Gerard's body relax before he started moving.

"Every next time," Bob countered roughly. "But this time - I." He braced himself against the wall, fingers curling to cover Gerard's. He knew he was close, could feel it gathering, a tingling in his lower back; Gerard moaned helplessly as Bob closed his free hand around Gerard's cock, pushing back into Bob's thrusts, his head dropping between his shoulders. Bob kissed the back of his neck, murmured, "Now, Gerard," into the sweat-damp hair, and Gerard shuddered and came. Bob followed a few strokes later, sparks dancing behind his closed lids.

They were silent for a moment, ragged breathing the only noise in the room. Bob felt like he was moving through water as he pulled out and straightened his clothes, wiping his hand on a stray bit of fabric he found on a table nearby. Gerard dressed in silence as well; he pulled his shirt back over his head and when he reemerged, he still looked slightly stunned around the eyes. He reached out to tug Bob closer, kissing him a little desperately. Bob just went with it, opening for the swipes of Gerard's tongue and waiting until they were basically just breathing into each other's mouths before pulling back far enough to talk.

"Let's wake the others," he said. He felt Gerard's fingers slip down to encircle his and squeeze. He started to pull away, but Bob held on a moment longer, pulling him in for a lightning-quick kiss in the doorway before they separated to start knocking.

Gerard went immediately to the doorway Bob indicated as Mikey's. When Mikey answered the knock, he pulled his brother into a fierce hug and didn't seem inclined to let go, so Bob kept moving, rousing Ray and Patrick. When he knocked on Jepha's door, he got a two-for-one; Dan was inside too. Jepha responded to Bob's raised eyebrow with an inquiring once-over of his own. He seemed to find something about Bob's hair amusing; Bob grumbled under his breath, shooting him a rude gesture and flattening the unruly strands. By the time he'd gotten the rest of them herded down the hall and into the room where the computer components were set up, the Ways had gone from hugging to glaring - from Mikey - and mournful looks - from Gerard.

"What's going on?" asked Ray, stifling a yawn.

"Sorry to wake you all," Bob replied seriously. "But Gerard's awake now - as you can see - and he said he needed to talk to us all right away."

Gerard looked away from his brother, eyes flashing past Bob's as he studied the other men in the room. "I - I know we haven't met. You all know who I am. And you may not quite believe it, but I know who you all are too. I can't tell you how much it means that you did what you did, but I have to ask you if you'll consider doing it again. There are two more guys in there, guys who are worse off than I ever was. Guys who are being tortured. I can't be out here while they're still in there. It's not right."

Everyone was quiet. Bob swallowed against an uneasy lump in his throat. He was remembering Gerard's words back on the _Lone Wolf_ , when Bob had asked if there were more like him on Elkatha-7: _I hope not, but I'm pretty sure there will be_. He knew Gerard better now, knew the tone of voice. He had no sense of self-preservation, saved all his fierceness for others. Bob was about to speak when Mikey broke the silence.

"Tortured?" His voice was very small.

"Yeah," said Gerard shortly.

"How long?" It was Ray who asked, brow furrowed.

"How long have they been there? Longer than me. Long enough that the Ministerium resorted to the T-probe. Not long enough to break, not yet."

"Who are they?" Patrick.

Gerard eyed him consideringly. "People who don't deserve to be tortured." His eyes slid back to Bob. "People who...." He broke off. Bob knew that tone of voice too. Gerard knew more than he was telling, had seen more than he was telling.

"Gonna be a fun time, trying to get back in that place. Once bitten, twice shy," Dan drawled.

Bob took a step forward, looked deliberately at each of the others in turn. "Does that mean you're all in? None of you have to take orders, you know."

"We know," Jepha countered. "You've been quiet. Are you in?"

"Do you really need to ask? If I'd known there were others...I can't believe I didn't know." He looked over at Gerard.

"They were keeping us all together at first," Gerard said softly. "The other two...there was some trouble. They moved them into the medical area just a few days ago." He did not say 'I tried to tell you', and Bob was grateful for that, and for the hand Gerard laid on his arm. He'd never been the type to want touches, but Gerard was different.

"So if you're all in...how do we do this?" Bob asked.

"Dan's right," said Ray thoughtfully. "They'll be extra vigilant at this point."

"And there's another problem," Gerard added. "Someone from the Matres is due to show up in a few days. If they're not out before she gets there...they're fucked. We're fucked."

"Okay," Bob said slowly. "We've got a time limit, we've got double the amount of targets, and we've got extra security. How do we do it?"

"There's no time for more recon," said Jepha. "And your spot on the construction crew is probably compromised."

Bob shook his head slowly. "We need more people for this anyway. Three, maybe four. And we have to go in hot. Somehow. If we can get in."

"If you want to go in hot, you should really go in hot," Mikey replied. They all looked at him. "What? We can set up bribes and hack computer systems all day long, but when it comes down to it, all you really need for a big diversion is to burn the fucker down."

No one said anything for a moment, and Mikey's eyebrows climbed slowly toward his hairline. Then, abruptly, Bob barked out a laugh. The kid was right. "Fuck it all, that could work. Dan, I don't suppose you're carrying incendiary bombs?"

Dan just chuckled. Jepha was the one to answer. "What, you all missed the smuggler's hatch in the hold?"

"I'll take that as a yes. Okay, here's what we have to do. We have to be ready to clear out of here on a moment's notice, so minimal tech. We've got to cut their communications, light them up, get in there and get the others out, and get out clean." Bob looked around at the others' faces. They looked wide awake now, and most of them were nodding along. "I'm taking Ray and Jepha. Dan, you're in charge of transport, Patrick and Mikey, tech. Gerard - "

"I'm going with you," Gerard answered calmly.

"You're not trained." Bob frowned.

"You don't know who you're looking for, or where to find them," Gerard countered. Bob started to reply, but Gerard held up a hand. "Yes, I'd tell you all that, but here's the thing - I want to, okay? I want to go. I need to go."

Everyone was looking at Bob, like it was Bob's decision, and he was suddenly tired - exhausted - of being the one who made the decisions. Gerard was watching him, gaze steady - he knew the feeling, the weight of the responsibility, Bob knew he did. "It's your choice," he told Gerard.

Gerard smiled gently. "And I've made it. Let's hope it's the right one."

Bob absorbed the smile for a moment, heedless of the other occupants of the room. It was an indulgence, but one he needed. "Okay." He pulled a chair up to a data reader and started searching files. "First step? Plan the attack."

Ray sat down next to him, the others following like a wave. "Always a good place to start."

*

They worked tirelessly over the next day, stocking the transport vehicle with weapons, surveillance equipment, and medical supplies and reloading anything extra back onto the _Dumb Luck_. Every so often one or two of them would grab a few minutes' rest, a hot drink, some food. Bob only found himself alone with Gerard once, when they had a minor collision in the doorway of the kitchen. Gerard hung on to Bob's shoulders, leaning in to kiss him. Bob hummed and bent his head, licking lazily into Gerard's mouth. Gerard made it easy to forget everything that existed outside of the places their skin touched. When their lips slipped apart, Bob dropped his head to Gerard's shoulder, breathing into his collarbone for a few moments.

"I think this is where I tell you it'll be okay," Gerard whispered in his ear. "That's not a vision, either. That's just me trusting you."

"Shouldn't I be the one telling you it's going to be okay?" Bob answered.

"You can," Gerard answered, resting his cheek on top of Bob's head. "I won't say no to that."

It was the only real moment of quiet Bob got until the last possible moment, when he crouched in the dark outside the Ministerium's building, the detonator to a rigged series of incendiaries in his hand. He was waiting on Ray and Jepha, who were placing the last of the charges. Gerard crouched behind him, quiet breaths mingling with Bob's own. Even the city noises seemed to have faded.

"Last charge placed," Jepha's quiet voice spoke through their linked earpieces. "We're in position."

Bob's eyes flickered to the other side of the building, though he couldn't see Jepha and Ray's position from here. "On my mark," he replied. "Get ready to move." He took a deep breath and pressed the detonator. Then he waited, counting on the blast to draw any bystanders toward the other end of the building, timing his own smaller blast to take out the access window. He was up and in as soon as the small cloud of smoke cleared. He could hear voices in his earpiece - Ray and Jepha making their own entrance, Gerard murmuring directions from behind him even though they'd all studied the blueprints till their eyes swam.

Their dark clothes blended into the gloom inside the hallways - Patrick and Mikey had taken out the generators and most of the secondary systems from the transport. They met their first resistance - a surprised orderly - right outside the medical area, and Bob grimly dispatched him with a few well-placed kicks as Jepha trained a laser blaster on the door. It took both his and Ray's shoulders thudding against the panel to breach the barrier, and then they were inside, Gerard moving immediately to one of the two beds in alcoves across the room. They were both hooked up to an array of tubes, and Bob put a hand on Gerard's shoulder, murmured, "Is that - "

"Looks like sedatives," Gerard murmured back. "If we can just pull - " His hands were shaking a little, and Bob brushed him aside.

"I'll do it," he said, quickly detaching the ports from the first guy's arm, distantly noting the swirl of tattoos across the skin as he did so. Jepha saw what he was doing and moved to do the same to the body in the other bed.

Gerard had moved to the head of the mattress, fingers testing the first guy's neck for a pulse. "He's pretty doped up." Bob watched his hands smooth delicately across the figure's face, brushing hair out of his eyes, and wondered at the familiarity of the gesture.

"We have to move," he muttered, stooping to gather the first guy's limp form into his arms. "Gerard, take my sidearm. It's set for maximum spread. If there's trouble, just point and shoot. Preferably away from the rest of us." He heard a shaky little chuckle, felt hands fumble at his belt and the weight of the weapon leaving the holster, and saw Ray scoop up the other prone figure.

"Dan," he heard Jepha murmur into his own comm, "We're on our way out, be in position." Jepha fell in at the front of the group, sidearm out, with Ray and Bob followed, with Gerard trailing. Bob heard him curse suddenly, and then he was crashing into Bob, pressing him up against the wall and swiveling to cover the hallway behind them. It was only then that Bob heard the rushing footsteps and shouts from unfamiliar voices close by. He had a moment to wonder how Gerard knew before Jepha swung back to flank Gerard, weapon steady. Ray and Bob kept moving, letting the other two cover them. Bob clenched his jaw at the spitting sound of laser fire and concentrated on getting himself, Ray, and their twin burdens outside and into the waiting transport.

It was a tense minute or so before Gerard and Jepha came bursting outside and jumped into the transport, sweaty and disheveled but apparently unharmed. Then they all had to hang on as Dan careened the transport through the streets of Caravan City in a truly impressive display of evasive maneuvers. Patrick braced himself between the two pallets, hanging onto the walls and swearing at Dan as he used a handheld medical scanner to check their passengers.

"It'd be helpful if we could get these two back in one piece," Patrick yelled over the engine.

"It'd be helpful if we didn't lead the authorities back to my ship," Dan grumbled. It was the most disgruntled tone Bob had heard from since they'd met him.

"It'd be helpful if we didn't crash," Jepha said calmly. "Stop distracting the driver." But he moved back to help Patrick steady the two pallets. Bob took his sidearm back from Gerard, and he and Ray positioned themselves at windows, eyes peeled for hostile pursuit. They drove in random geometric patterns for the better part of an hour before Gerard said absently, "Go to the ship, you've lost them." It didn't really occur to anyone to doubt him. He didn't even look up from where he was sitting, eyes fixed on the medical monitor Patrick had affixed to Guy #1. Bob wasn't able to differentiate more, because they were both small, dark-haired, and tattooed. But only this one had earned that kind of attention.

Dan turned them around and headed for the spaceport. Getting their extra passengers onboard without drawing attention to them was a fun trick, but luckily they were flying with a smuggler. It seemed like every time Bob blinked, something else was falling into place. Dan let him into the cockpit this time, Bob manning the weapons array while Dan got the _Dumb Luck_ off the ground. Pursuit didn't come, and Bob grumbled, "That was too easy."

"No it wasn't," Dan replied. "Don't forget we have to go through the quarantine station again."

"I hate Sector 87," Bob groaned.

"Space is pretty small if you don't leave the green zone," Jepha said meditatively from the copilot's seat.

"Funny, I remember my XO crying about the same thing at the beginning of this mission." Jepha made a rude gesture, and Bob returned it before pushing himself to his feet. "I'm gonna go check on things." By things he meant Gerard, who was sitting in the crew bay, continuing his bedside vigil for his fellow precog. Mikey was sitting with him, but he got up and left when he saw Bob coming. Bob wondered exactly what expression he had on his face.

"Tell me about them," Bob said without preamble, eyes flicking over to the other bunk, where Patrick was doing another set of readings on the second guy, who was, if Patrick's face was any indication, the worse case.

"That's Pete," Gerard said slowly, his eyes following Bob's. "He's...important. They were extra hard on him, because he knows things."

"What kinds of things?"

"Things about the Bene Gesserits, the resistance. He has Mentat training. He...things would have been different, if the Mentats would have found me instead of the Ministerium."

Bob nodded. The thing was, one religious order shouldn't have been much different than another to a confirmed agnostic like Bob, but he had grown up learning the Golden Path, and the Bene Gesserits weren't the monsters the Matres were. "And this one?" he asked, nodding at the object of Gerard's continued attention.

"This is Frank," Gerard said softly. "He's...like me. Nobody special. But he's so powerful. I've seen him before, in visions, and I don't know why I was so surprised that he was there on Elkatha. And he...wasn't cooperative." He smoothed a few wrinkles out of Frank's bedclothes.

"You've had visions about him." Gerard flushed a little. "You care about him," Bob said flatly.

"I care about them both."

"You care about him," Bob repeated, with a bit more emphasis.

Gerard looked up, wide-eyed. "I. Yes. But, Bob...I care about _you_."

It was painfully earnest, and despite the twisting feeling in his chest, for some reason it made Bob want to smile. "I didn't say different."

"Don't do that," Gerard replied.

"Do what?"

"You're pulling back now. You're about to say, 'if this is what you want', and after you say it, you walk away. You're a million miles away already."

Bob closed his eyes. "I told you I wasn't asking anymore."

"You didn't say I couldn't tell you."

"I thought it was implied, Gerard."

Gerard stood up, took a few steps closer to Bob. "Be angry with me if you want. But I know what I've seen, and I know what I do and don't want to happen!"

"Oh, so you're actually using your visions now? What happened to self-fulfilling prophecies?" Bob curled his lip. Gerard's eyes flared green.

"The restrictors are gone, Bob. I don't exactly have as many options. If it's either deal with them or suffer...." He sounded more resolute than Bob had ever heard. "Bob. Just give it some time. Please. That's all I'm asking."

"Time. Okay," Bob mumbled. Time Bob had. Patience was in short supply. But trust...he'd said he trusted Gerard. This was much harder than letting him guard Bob's back. This hurt. He turned away. When he chanced a look back, Gerard was back at Frank's bedside, continuing his silent vigil.

*

The quarantine station was an unwelcome sight. It was still as ugly and crowded as it had been when they first passed through, but now they were all on high alert for pursuit and everyone that looked twice at the _Dumb Luck_ was potentially an enemy. Dan had brought them in smoothly, and Ray immediately started transmitting the codes to put them in the queue for an exit permit. Mikey had been busy working on doctored papers for the entire crew, and he swore what he had would pass muster with the customs agents if no one looked too closely. All they could do now was wait.

The ship was crowded with people, but everyone felt the tension and spread out into every nook and cranny for a little space. Bob was frowning over a hot drink in the galley when he heard an unfamiliar voice at the door. "Bob Bryar," it greeted him wearily. His head snapped up. It was Frank, his casual posture slightly belied by the white-knuckled grip he had on the door frame.

"Should you be out of bed?" Bob asked irritably.

Frank's eyes twinkled. "I'd go back if I had company."

"Didn't you?"

Frank laughed, sounding a little surprised. "You mean Gerard. Oh, Bob. You're going to be a treat." He crossed the galley to take the chair next to Bob's. Bob watched him move; aside from the weariness, the tattoos and small frame were camouflage for a compact toughness, not unlike Jepha. Bob wouldn't be surprised to find out he had the same kind of past on the shady side of the law.

"I'm a little sick of total strangers knowing things about me." Bob crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Frank with an unfriendly stare, but Frank just chuckled again.

"No, you're not. You dealt with that pretty well. You're just trying to decide whether you dislike me."

"Well, you tell me."

"Right now? Oh, absolutely. I don't think I want to tell you what eventually happens, though. Butting heads with you is half the fun." Bob fumed helplessly. Apparently there was something worse than a stubborn precognitive - a smug one. Frank was just watching, eyes bright and curious. Then he leaned forward, closed his hand gently around Bob's neck, thumb stroking the edge of Bob's beard. Bob wrapped a punishing hand around his wrist, but Frank didn't flinch, just leaned in and pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of Bob's mouth. "There's one more thing to think about, but you might want to save it for later. You're needed in the cockpit."

Bob flinched away, gaping. "What - " His question was cut off by a buzzer sounding urgently through the ship's loudspeakers. "Shit, that's an equipment failure indicator." He jumped to his feet, eyes cutting back to Frank. "This conversation isn't over."

Frank smiled. "I know." He reached over to snag Bob's mug and took a sip. After one more moment's hesitation, Bob left him to it.

The cockpit was a scene of organized chaos. The buzzers had brought people running from all ends of the ship, and Mikey and Ray were checking indicators on a wall data unit while Dan talked to Jepha, who was down in the engine room, on the comm.

"What's going on?" Bob asked the first person he could grab, which happened to be Gerard.

Gerard blinked at him a few times, then said, "The Matres are here."

Fuck. Bob wasn't surprised, not at all, but - "How do you - " Gerard just gave him a look.

"Port control was in the middle of transmitting exit clearances to Dan when the broadcast cut off. They said they had a priority landing and all other traffic was being suspended. What else would it be?"

"You tell me," Bob said pointedly. "But...the buzzer?"

"Something went wrong down in the engine room," Dan interrupted, face tight. "Jepha's checking it out."

"I'll go down too," Bob said. As an afterthought, he grabbed Gerard's wrist and towed him along behind him.

"What - " Gerard finally started tugging back, and Bob stopped, pulled him into a alcove in the hold.

"I met Frank in the galley," Bob told him.

"I told him not to get out of bed," Gerard said with a frown.

"Oh, did you?" His inflection was suggestive enough to have Gerard's eyes snapping up to his. "He kissed me," Bob hissed. Unexpectedly, Gerard's mouth twitched. "What's so funny about that?" he demanded.

"Frank...likes to push people," Gerard said carefully.

"Why is he pushing me?"

"To see if you'll push back." Gerard paused. "I asked you to give this time."

"You asked me to give you time."

Gerard leaned in and Bob couldn't even offer a token resistance, just opened his mouth for a quick and dirty kiss. "It's the same thing. You'll see."

Bob didn't want to see anything, unless it was the quarantine station disappearing behind them, or a room with a large bed and no interruptions. He didn't answer, just tugged Gerard along until they found Jepha.

"Sitrep," Bob called out, and Jepha looked over from where he was digging in the innards of a computer panel.

"The navigation computer isn't connecting with the engines," he muttered, absentmindedly smudging a swipe of grime across his cheek. They're both functioning, as far as anyone can tell, it's just like...they're speaking different languages or something." He waved Bob over, and he stepped up to the panel, tweaked a few components, then opened a larger panel and checked the equipment there. After a few minutes of exploration, he swore and slammed the panel shut. Jepha nodded. "We might as well go back up. I can't find anything wrong down here either."

"We're a big, slow target without nav systems, Jeph. If our papers don't pass muster, and if the Matres are armed - " Jepha snorted, which pretty much summed up the likelihood of that. " - we've got nowhere to run unless we can get into foldspace."

Jepha nodded tightly. "I know, Bob. Ray's calculating all the stations within sub-fold range. It's our only chance, unless the nav system decides to play nice."

Gerard was looking from one to the other of them, eyes huge. "What if someone could take the place of the computer?" he said quietly.

"I don't see a Guild Navigator onboard," Jepha replied. "Unless - " He cut himself off. They did have a precognitive on board, as a matter of fact. More than one, but.... Jepha's expression was skeptical.

"If you program the wrong course, we're all dead, but I'm in." Dan's voice crackled through the comm. Bob jumped; he'd forgotten the channel was open. Dan sounded surprisingly cheerful. Bob supposed morbidly that they'd all be dead anyway if they didn't get into foldspace, and instantly the tightness in his chest eased a little.

"Get us clearance, and I'm in," he said gruffly. He barely heard Ray's affirmative response through the comm. He was watching Gerard, who nodded tightly.

"I need Frank for this," Gerard told him, and after a moment Bob nodded back. If that smug little fucker could help Gerard get them out of here alive, Bob silently promised he'd give him another chance.

*

It took another hour for the exit clearances to come through. Mikey had been sitting with Gerard and Frank at the nav console, translating Ray's technical explanation of the setup into something more basic, and his expression didn't change, but he left out an audible whoosh of breath. The falsified papers must not have set off any alarm bells. Bob was sitting at the weapons turret with Dan, alternating between scanning the spaceport for activity and watching Frank and Gerard. Frank caught him watching and grinned. As much as Bob hated to admit it, there was nothing malicious in it. He couldn't understand such a depth of glee in such a situation, but the transparent lack of concern somehow made him breathe a little easier.

Jepha called Dan back to the pilot's chair when the final clearance sequence flashed on the data reader. "We're good to go," he said.

"That's great," said Ray, "but where are we going?"

"I have a suggestion," said a new voice. Everyone looked toward the door; the third precog, Pete, stood there with an arm wrapped tightly around Patrick's shoulders. Bob stared; awake, he looked even more gaunt and haggard than he had when he was still unconscious. It was obvious he'd been treated badly. The contrast between him and Gerard, or even Frank, was striking. Yet his eyes were clear. "Set course to Dendros. I have friends there - Mentats, and others. You'd all be welcome, till you decide to move on."

Dendros. Bob had heard the name, had a brief mental image of a jungle-like planet, far enough from the Old Imperium to be independent of the Great Houses still clinging to their feudal dealings, but inside the green zone. Dan nodded briefly at Bob's questioning look. It was a smuggler's safe haven, then. Ray was already pulling up the coordinates on the computer. Frank and Gerard looked at each other for a long moment, then started typing in command strings, hands weaving in and out of each other's reach in a complicated sequence. Pete let go of Patrick, swaying on his feet before crossing the cockpit to lean on the back of Frank's chair, pointing silently at a few lines of the emerging code. He mostly hung back, though, the effort of standing clearly a strain. Patrick hovered close.

Bob was distracted from the navigation console when Jepha cursed. Bob followed his line of sight and echoed the profanity. Tiny figures were running their way, brandishing laser weapons. "Dan, get us into the air before they revoke our clearance," Jepha muttered. Bob threw himself into the gunner's seat and starting bringing weapons on line, just in case. He felt the jerk and push of the landing gear releasing them from the deck, the distant whine of the sub-fold engines propelling them into the waiting launch lane. A few stray laser blasts followed their ascent, and Bob grimly picked off the small running figures with one of the laser cannons.

"We're ready," came a tense voice - Gerard.

"Punch it," added Ray. Bob saw Dan hit the switch out of the corner of his eye and heard the quantum drive roar to life, rumbling the deck under their feet. As the dizzying swirl of foldspace filled the viewscreens, Bob's eyes found Gerard's and held. It had worked. Bob realized then that he'd never really expected any different.

*

Dendros was every bit the paradise Bob's vague memories had conjured. They'd arrived quickly, and in one piece, and miraculously clear from pursuit. One major advantage to Gerard and Frank's impromptu Guild Navigator imitation had been lack of a recorded flight plan. Pete's friends turned out to be several other Mentats, a motley assortment of smugglers and refugees, and a Bene Gesserit named Amanda, who looked too young to be in charge, but was utterly terrifying despite her age and the fact that she was on their side. Whatever that side was. Bob supposed he was a refugee now too. He wasn't used to that, or to the fact that most of them regarded him as some sort of hero. He just avoided everyone he could.

Bob's daily walks took him on a circuit of the settlement. Old habits were hard to break; he couldn't help keeping tabs on people. Ray and Jepha were busy helping Dan and a couple of Pete's people do repairs on the _Dumb Luck_. Bob should have known better than to try to pass them by. Dan hailed him, and Bob stood and watched for a moment before joining them. It amazed him to see the difference in Jepha, quietly content to work in tandem with Dan like he used to; Ray waved but kept working. It wasn't a surprise; Toro was always eager to tackle the next challenge.

"What's going on, Dan?" Bob asked amiably.

"I figure we'll be done here in a day or two. Pete's people have been great, but I'm way overdue to rendezvous with the _Love and Death_."

"Looks like you're taking my command crew along for the ride."

Dan laughed. "You're welcome too, you know. We've been thinking about getting another ship up and running. Could use a pilot." Bob hesitated. Jeph had stopped for a drink and was listening in. He laughed.

"Don't worry, Bob. Amanda offered us the supply run for the settlement. We'll be back to visit every now and then." He raised an eyebrow. Bob wasn't sure how he was supposed to take that statement.

"I...I'll talk to you guys later, okay? Don't work too hard?"

"Only as hard as I intend to play later," was Dan's cheerful rejoinder.

Bob kept walking. Frank, Gerard, and Pete had been whisked off for medical attention as soon as they were planetside and Patrick had been swept along with them; Bob hadn't seen him since then, until now. He and Pete were sitting in the shaded courtyard that served as the settlement's common area. Bob kept his head down as he walked by, but it was too late; Pete had seen him and was waving him over.

"Bob, right?" Pete asked cheerfully. "I didn't really get a chance to meet you before. Or thank you. So, thank you." Bob mumbled a reply, and Pete continued, "Frank and Gerard are lucky fuckers, to have you as a keeper."

Bob froze, then he just stared.

"Oops," Pete said, not really sounding sorry. "Patrick just got done yelling at me about the telling the future thing. Apparently some people don't want to know?" Pete leaned closer, dropped his voice to what he obviously thought was a confidential level. "I don't know why Patrick wouldn't want to know he was my soulmate. Everyone should know! It's Patrick!"

Cutting his eyes to Patrick, Bob studied his flushed cheeks with interest. But Patrick merely rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I don't want to know. I mean, about me. Or about Patrick," Bob added quickly.

"Shame," Pete said with a lewd eyebrow wiggle. "On both counts."

"I...have to go," Bob said, turning and hurrying in the other direction.

"Send vids!" Pete called out. "Precognition's only good for so much!" There was a smacking sound and a pained "Ow!" from behind him. Bob still had a smile on his lips despite himself when he rounded the corner to Gerard's quarters. It was strange to see steady, reliable Patrick looking equal parts resigned and pleased by Pete's insistent attention. It reminded him of...

 _Frank._ The smile slipped off his lips as he caught sight of the two figures on the bench in front of the cabin. They were kissing, inked fingers twined in messy dark hair. It was nothing he hadn't imagined before, but the reality was different. Bob felt a wave of heat climb his cheeks. He waited for the anger to follow, but it didn't come, just a dry mouth, a pounding pulse and seized lungs. He must have made a noise, because the other two sprang apart. Gerard flushed as red as Bob, but Frank just leaned back and crossed his arms.

"I came to talk to you, Gerard," Bob managed finally.

"I...yes. Please." Gerard reached out a hand, then hesitated.

"Alone," Bob added, eyes cutting to Frank. A tiny sideways smile flitted across Frank's mouth, and he stood up. Bob thought he was just going to walk right by, but at the last second, he stepped in close. Bob heaved in a breath, still tingling with unexpected arousal, feeling Frank pressed up against him. "If you kiss me, I swear I'll punch you," Bob growled.

"Guess it's good I like it rough," Frank drawled. His manic grin flashed as he sidled by. Bob sat down on the bench in the spot Frank had vacated, staring down at his hands dangling loosely between his knees for a moment.

"Mikey says Dan's leaving soon," Gerard said tentatively.

"Yeah."

"He said you were invited to go along."

Bob frowned. "Where is Mikey, anyway?"

"Chasing some acolyte named Alicia," Gerard muttered absently. "Wait. Don't change the subject, Bob."

"Was there a subject?"

"I was asking...I want to know...are you planning on leaving, Bob?"

"I haven't decided," Bob told him.

"We're staying," Gerard said. "Frank and I. The Mentats here said they'd train us."

"I figured."

"Bob...will you stay, too?"

"Doesn't seem like you need me to," Bob replied. He felt Gerard's hand slip over his and looked up to find Gerard sliding closer.

"That's where you're wrong, Bob. Just think about it?" He looked so hopeful.

"I'll think about it," he said, letting his head thunk back against the wall of the building.

"Bob?" Gerard asked quietly. His fingers tightened around Bob's.

"I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing here," Bob muttered.

"Nobody ever does." Gerard leaned closer, eyes bright, fixed on Bob's face while Bob's thoughts ricocheted around inside his head. Gerard, who'd asked him over and over to trust him. Gerard, who had a gift, and who needed someone to watch out for him sometimes. Frank; annoying as fuck, but without fear or shame. And hot, his brain reminded him, taking a sudden turn into different territory. Gerard's fingers splayed against a tapestried wall. Frank, still a stranger, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss onto his mouth on the strength of a vision alone.

He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before he opened them and focused on Gerard. "I'm staying with you." Gerard's smile, when it came, was brighter than either of Dendros' suns.

"I am glad to hear that," Gerard murmured. He was very calm, and Bob leaned in to nip at his lower lip.

"One of these days, maybe I'll actually surprise you."

"Good luck with that," said a new voice - Frank, ambling back up the path with a devilish gleam in his eye. Both of them sat up and looked over at him, and he waved a hand at them. "Please, don't stop on my account."

"Don't worry," Bob murmured huskily, "I won't." He slid a hand up Gerard's throat, bending his head and swallowing his happy hum as Frank's pleased laughter rang in his ears. He'd trade the visions for reality any day, but between the three of them, they had both. Bob thought he could get used to that.


End file.
